Like You Could Love Her
by legheads-lament
Summary: If you could mark every inch of her you think you would. So she would run out of magic before hiding them all and have to pick one to keep. A constant reminder until you're back in this same or any other position, leaving more and more until you've marked her completely yours. If only it worked that way.


A/N: Literally no storyline whatsoever because when I'm not rping I am rendered incapable of writing anything with plot. The King's chambers. That is all you really need to know. Descriptive but not vulgar. I am really nervous about this one so I hope you will enjoy it :)

* * *

The door shuts with an almost inaudible 'click'. The King's chambers leave little to be desired. Or perhaps much, depending on how you look at it. But the chambers themselves are hardly what matter. Hell, even the bed doesn't matter. It's about more than location, about more than simply entering a room you have no business being in. It's about her. It's about taking back power, creating a new memory. It's about many things. Most of which are actually, surprisingly, unselfish. It was about doing unto a King what he has done unto his Queen. At least in a manner of speaking. It's about payback, about revenge, about the sweet aftertaste of deviousness that no one else will even know about. But she will know. And you will know. And that is all that is really needed.

She was reluctant. But you were convincing. There was a word that if all your abilities were to be whittled down to only one singular explanation, could say everything in one go. You could convince your way into any circle you could ever need to. Just about any bed as well. And that much is even more true now, when you convinced a queen that the best sort of retaliation for her woes would be to hold a secret, keep it locked in a box, revisit it often and in glowing detail — a secret, an act of betrayal, one so immensely deserved that simply acting it out in her own chambers, or anywhere else you might see fit — and you had seen so many places as being as fit as a fiddle, if you can stand the metaphor — no, the closer to home, the closer to where he laid his Kingly head, the better. And so within a click here you stood. She with uncertain eyes and waiting lips, and you with not a single uncertain bone in your unroyal body. But when has that ever stopped you before?

It's a boyish little sneer that you give her, but a sneer nonetheless. You want to enjoy this. And you know that you will. And not just for who you are going to be stabbing in the back, but for who you will be with. What began as messy and impulsive, grew to be messier, foolishly spontaneous, and yet suddenly, almost irrationally real, and passionate. _You started caring_.

This care you'd developed had slowly begun to bleed into your time together. Kisses became more focused, conveying things beyond the simple crashing of lips being something you found pleasant and in need of repeating. Take started to become give. Give was a much better place to start from. And to end on. And for everything she accepted from you, you seemed to build up more to bring the next time. She was a Queen. And somewhere along the road that had morphed from the moniker of a conquest, into the only thing you wished to treat her as. You've gone soft Jefferson. Lucky for you, soft is something she needs more of in her life.

* * *

"I don't know how you talked me into this."

There's that uncertainty you know so well. That uncertainty that leaves more and more swiftly all the time but given your chosen venue, you imagine it will take a little more than your usual shtick in this instance. Fortunately usual was not at all your aim.

"I seem to recall it starting with something — like this."

A kiss to her lips that is anything but a mere implement of influence. And that serves to make all the more influencing. When you come from a place of feeling, instead of just a physical need by itself, you slowly start to realize how much better it all can be. Feeling things you never thought you would or could, especially not for a woman, no more than a girl, and a taken and powerful one at that.

Slowly your lips drops lower, trailing down the side of her face as two persuasive hands urge her to walk backwards toward the four poster bed, and accept your attentions without further pretended protest.

"You're trying to distract me."

"Yes. Is it working?"

"Ye-s...but I shouldn't be letting it."

You smirk against her — the way her voice has lowered into that breathy register, the one that you can practically hear her eyes rolling back in, the one you aim to bring out more than any other — it draws you in closer, has you lifting her onto the bed, determined to hear more of it before the night is through.

She waves her hand and the atmosphere glows and hums for a moment and then dissipates. "What did you do?" You breathe out before your lips brush against her throat. "I don't, want anyone to hear. I don't want to be caught." You can't help but snicker. She's so willing to give in to your (and her) desires but still so apprehensive at the same time. "Afraid you can't keep quiet enough?" You tease her in between a nip and kiss. "You know I can't."

You can tell by how she tenses all too suddenly that she didn't mean for that particular confession to come out. And were you not currently buried in her neck you imagine you'd see large eyes growing wider with embarrassment and red flooding into her cheeks. But just this once you will let it go — pretending you didn't hear her, and setting your attentions on her pulse, kissing deeply until you're certain a mark will show up. She covers them with magic but you know they are there. And you know she allowed you to make them. And that's enough to feel possessive and like even though she may be a queen and have herself a king you still have part of her he won't. Her consent.

"I like this better." You say, changing the subject. And you hear just a little bit of what could only be called relief in her voice. "Like what better?" "Beds." And then it's her turn to laugh. A short, sweet giggle. "And why is that?" You hear her voice gain a little moxie you didn't know she had, as her fingers wind their way into your hair, keeping you in place as if you had any mind to leave it. "Because," you pause for effect, laying more kisses on the expanse of her neck. "I get to see every part of you." You finally breathe out. And whatever bravado she'd suddenly found was gone just as quickly. She goes quiet, but you let her. No need to draw further shyness out than already exists. And anyway, there are plenty of other even more enjoyable ways to do just that.

You take her hands in yours and raise them up over her head, pressing them into the sheets, lacing your fingers together. Your kisses die down and become mere passing brushes of lips, no pressure behind them. And you take the time to inhale her scent deeply, letting it fill up a crevice of memory to carry with you. It seems to cloud your senses, letting the all too honest and all too lust-ridden words come out.

"You're beautiful, Regina."

Her hands instantly lose their grip for a moment, reflecting the stunned expression you'd find if you pulled away to look at her face. And then you can feel her hands push against yours, hoping for freedom but you don't oblige her, instead shifting your grip so you hold both wrists in one hand, the other coming down to begin unlacing her bodice, suddenly determined to make her believe you hadn't just said it because it was a nice thing to say. As if the touch of your hands and lips could prove it — _could convince her_.

You kiss your way up over her jawline, to find her waiting lips. You focus your kiss on her top lip, and then the bottom, savoring each before seeking a full kiss, and awaiting her to respond. Her breath is just discernibly shaky, but she does. Parting her lips without hesitation and allowing you to kiss her like it could make her believe you. And perhaps it does.

You release one hand and it's immediately at the side of your face, thumb brushing softly and fingers just threading into your hair. She lets out a faint disappointed sigh when you pull away to drop to the other side of her neck and then bites her lip to cover it.

"What?" You finally look her in the eyes as you speak. "N-othing." She says, shaking her head as if that makes it more believable. You smile down at her and while it's a teasing smile, it's genuine. It's because you want to smile at her.

You release her other hand and shift until either of yours hold her face. Staring down into her deep brown eyes, so strong and so timid at the same time. You kiss her again, and can almost feel her breath stall in her lungs. It's a satisfying feeling, in more ways than one. And you feel superior for it, within every movement of her lips and tongue you feel her give more to it. Give more to you, and accept more from you.

You roll to bring her above you, and she stays close. You begin pulling at her bodice again, trying to rid her of it, and can feel her reluctance to pull away and let you. You break the kiss but she still stays close, her face barely an inch away, eyes still closed. "Regina," you speak lowly, but the want in your voice is substantial. "Let me see you." Her eyes open slowly, at first looking down but then making their way up to find your gaze. You're confused by the particular uncertainness you see reflected back at you, but she sits up on her knees despite it, and you follow close behind.

What would normally be frantic — pulling layers off to get at the prize beneath as if it's a race and you'd better not lose — this time becomes something all the more careful. Peeling her out of her clothes as if the prize is not just naked skin, but her and her alone. You lay kisses to every new patch of flesh you uncover. Until her entire torso is exposed to you. You sit back for a minute against the pillows, hands on her waist, eyes roaming over her without shame, not caring how shy it makes her feel.

You can feel her legs tense with unease and can't help but make it worse for her. Your hands drift upwards, and she sits up taller, trying to shy away from your touch and where it is headed but she only has so far she can stretch. Your right hand makes it there first. Thumb towards the inside and fingers splayed on the out. You brush your thumb across her and feel her arch forward into it, and then nails digging into your side where her hand came up, steeling you and herself. You smirk and sit up again, not able to allow such an opportunity to pass you by.

You press a kiss to the center of her chest, and make a short detour to her lips while your hand still brushes her, swallowing the little noises she lets out and hoping to dizzy her enough that she'll let you continue undeterred. When you pull away her eyes are still closed, and you press another kiss just below the first, beginning a trail down to the center of her breasts before trailing off to the side.

You keep your attention just around the pert skin, feeling her push closer to you again, a hand still digging its nails into you. For every touch of your lips you're rewarded with them digging deeper, as if she's funneling all her reaction down into her fingertips. Now while you don't mind being at the brunt end of that reaction, you also wouldn't mind getting to hear some of it either.

When you finally brush your lips across the sensitive peak you are gifted with a soft whimper and a deep jab. Brush the other direction and you are rewarded again. You flick your tongue out and the whimper is louder but bit back by teeth, stifled and not allowed its full release. Your left hand raises to further affect her, fingers sweeping and kneading a little more haphazardly for your focus being on the right but the added sensation, and your pressing a full kiss to her send her back arching forward again and the tail end of her reaction finally breaks free from her lips.

Your right hand moves to her lower back, feeling the dip in her spine, caressing her as your mouth lays full and focused attention on her. You press her closer so she can't shy away. She stops trying to when you pull your lips off of her but its only to move your attention to the other side. Her head drops back and you feel the ends of her hair dance on your skin, your arm wrapped fully around her giving no room to budge or seek relief from the sensations you're building up in her.

If you could mark every inch of her you think you would. So she would run out of magic before hiding them all and have to pick one to keep. A constant reminder until you're back in this same or any other position, leaving more and more until you've marked her completely yours. If only it worked that way. If only you could use them to prove she belongs to no one else and take what's quickly and rightfully become yours to take. Because she let you. And it should matter that she let you.

"_Jefferson_," you hear your name come out followed by a whimper from behind her then tightly closed lips. You can feel her body arching against you repeatedly as the sensations start to become too much. When you're satisfied she's in a sufficiently, pleasantly miserable state you roll her back beneath you, taking one teasing bite out of the side of her breast before trailing back up.

You kiss her and she returns it frantically. Starts tugging at your shirts, almost desperate to get you out of them now. You oblige her wishes, still keeping your lips as connected as possible as you remove your vest and shirt, tossing them somewhere in a heap before bringing your now exposed torso down to brush hers. You feel small, deadly but delicate hands slide their way under your arms and around to your back, nails scratching. Your hands begin pulling at the dress still left around her hips, bringing the fabric down her legs until you can rid her of it. She shudders a little when a hand comes to caress the length of her thigh, thumb just brushing the inside. You smile as you kiss her because every part of her is so reactive to your touch, and all you want is to touch her again until she can't handle another.

You brush her inner thigh again, this time with all four fingers, and she tries to keep her legs clamped together but her body responds to you despite it, as you brush again you feel them start to part on their own, and her mouth is left whimpering into yours as anticipation begins to build in her. A hand dips between her legs, finding her thoroughly prepared for your actions, and she's forced to break the kiss for a moment, her head sinking back into the pillows, as you deftly brush across her. She bites her lip and her hands come up to dig into your shoulders, as your touches become a little more insistent before you push two fingers into her. A solitary moan finds its way out before she can stop it, and you watch her face become overwhelmed by every circle and forward movement you bestow on her.

There are few things that can stroke your ego more than pleasing a woman. But pleasing Regina has become an even bigger ego stroke because however inexperienced she may be she has yet to shy away entirely from any affection you've set on her. She has let you touch her and kiss her in places that would go unacceptably under appreciated if she didn't.

Small waves of pleasure begin to course through her, and her nails sink deeper into your shoulders as the small waves give way to big waves, ones that pull her under until she can no longer contain herself. All at once she wraps her arms around you, pulling herself up closer and you can no longer look at her. But you can feel her pulse thrumming against you, her body curling in and her breath coming out in choked pants against your shoulder. You drive her closer until there is nowhere else to go and she falls over swiftly, stifling a cry as she buries her face in your neck and clings tighter to you. She stays close even after you pull your hand away from her, skin buzzing and body shuddering, breath slowly, shakily beginning to return to even. You feel her press a kiss to the side of your neck, and a hum comes out of your throat. She tensed just after she did it but with your reaction she presses another, shy and tentative actions and you wonder how many she will grace you with.

A hand threads in to the back of your hair as you feel her breath come out in small puffs against you. You want to move to bring her on top of you again but you fear it would derail her actions so you digress to rest on an elbow with her pulling herself up to you, laying kiss after kiss to the side of your neck and feeling her chest brush yours with every now full inhaling breath. She lessens her grasp ever so slightly, enough to dip down and trail kisses along the front of your throat and to the other side of your neck. She kisses the spot just under your ear and your hand grips into the sheets, your balance wobbling a touch. She begins sinking back down into the bed, bringing you with her, pulling your weight down on top of her as she connects your lips in a kiss.

You enjoy her attentions immensely, finding it hard not crave more all the while you are still craving something else. You shimmy out of your pants and feel that same tentativeness in her hand that slides down your chest and abdomen, following her instincts but doubting them at the same time. You let out another encouraging hum, knowing that saying for her to keep going might take her out of the moment and that is about the last thing you want right now. What you do want, she aims to give you it seems.

Gentle fingers find their way lower and pull you closer to her. You fight back the desire to push past the pace of her movements, allowing her to decide when and how to go about all of it. Allowing her to direct you where she wants you to be. You sink into her and her eyebrows crease, nails then digging at your side again. The other hand stays splayed in your hair, holding you closer so you're not able to watch her anymore, but hooking her legs around you so there's no doubt this is what she wants.

Your pace is languid and dizzying from the word go. Slow, drawn out movements that have wonderful noises collecting in her throat. You kiss her neck to keep in time, not wanting to change the pace or severity of your thrusts to lose her before you are both wasted by the pleasure-filled build up. Her hand comes up to rest just below your shoulder blade, nails still digging and causing a groan to escape you. You shift to bring your lips back to hers and kiss her deeply. The way she returns it has little nerve firings going off at the back of your head, a pleasant tingling sensation working its way over you. When you're both breathless you finally break away, panting against her skin when you slump back down closer to her and for a moment you lose yourself, and her name falls from your lips in a lustful, groaning whisper.

All at once you feel her nails jab again and then her body's insistence that you roll her above you. You oblige and she takes control of the pace between you, her chest sliding against yours and her hips rolling while your hands stay latched onto them. You can feel her trying to quicken her pace, and you try to counteract it with hands gripping tighter to not allow such forceful movements. You want it to last. You want to experience the slow, searing burn of taking your time and holding out as long as you are able. The point at which even a delicate touch threatens to throw you over with little warning. You want to know what making love feels like and that is the first time you have ever felt such a want.

She sits up and your hands stay at her hips for a moment, but quickly find themselves wandering up to her waist and down to her thighs, caressing her skin. Her back arches forward, and you get lost in her every movement, watching as her body rocks up and back down, stomach muscles flexing beautifully as she tries to stay at a steady rhythm. You are happy to witness and watch her do most of anything, but this, is quickly becoming something you must witness again.

A hand drops down onto your chest, fingers splaying out directly over your heart and yet no matter how easily you know she could tear the muscle right out of you were she so inclined, you feel no fear. If anything you feel the opposite, a sort of excitement at the prospect and the fact that you are invulnerable to it. She could tear you in two and yet you know she never would. At least not in the literal sense. In the figurative however, you're starting to believe otherwise. As the feeling of her above you is beginning to wear on you. You gather up your strength and pull yourself to a sitting position yet again, hands both splayed on her back and holding her tight to you. Her rhythm begins to falter when you kiss her again, causing you to smile every time she breaks away for air or to find control once more.

You can feel yourself nearing your end, and so you make one last pass for control, turning quickly to bring her beneath you again and a startled little yelp escapes her lips. You cover them quickly with your own, knowing that her magic has ensured no one will hear her but still wanting to use yourself to muffle and absorb her reactions with. What was a slow burn begins to build up to something more frantic as you steadily move faster, searching for the angle that sends her there the most satisfyingly.

What were once hums and soft whimpers now come out as louder moans and strangled sounds of pleasure. Her legs wrap around you and that only makes you drive into her further and her nails dig in hard enough to break skin. Your own muscles are shaking, not wanting to lose this focused pace you have set on. The headboard begins to knock against the wall ever so slightly, and were you not so close you would make it a mission to have it knocking until the wood splintered but there just isn't time.

You hit your peak and feel her muscles beginning to tighten all around you, her teeth scraping your shoulder and nails slipping down, causing angry marks to show for your efforts. A few more thrusts and she's gone too. The scratching nails suddenly melt back into soft fingers, her chest brushes yours with deep breaths finally finding their way back in. Your hands unclench from the sheets so your knuckles can turn flesh-toned again. And for all the pleasant weakness you know her arms must be feeling, she stays pulled up close to you, breathing against your skin, unwilling to let go, or let you see her after this most effective release.

You press a kiss into her hair and begin to untangle yourself from her until finally she relents and her head hits the pillow. She covers her face with one hand, almost ashamed of how violently she reacted to you, but it's no matter. One day she will no longer be so reserved. And you will wait patiently for that day and enjoy every minute of it with her.

Slowly your fingers wiggle their way under her arm, trying to encourage her to move it away. Finally she does, and lets her eyes find yours. And she is vulnerable and she is beautiful and you kiss her for both. Delicately, but nothing that could be considered chaste. You kiss her like you could love her, if you were capable of such a thing. Maybe someday, you will be.


End file.
